


A Focused Professional

by harper_m



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-24
Updated: 2011-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-21 17:49:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 902
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harper_m/pseuds/harper_m
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma's tasked with gathering information from Moira. No one said she couldn't enjoy herself in the process.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Focused Professional

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Third Annual Femslash Kink Meme, prompt: Moira/Emma, psychological bondage.

“Comfortable?”

Emma’s voice was uncharacteristically warm. She’d found herself unexpectedly pleased with this particular assignment. She didn’t much hold with the maxim that business and pleasure should keep themselves separate and never the twain shall meet, so there was nothing wrong, really, with indulging.

Though, to be fair, she wasn’t sure Moira would agree.

“Oh, come now,” Emma chided, pushing an errant strand of hair away from Moira’s forehead. She smoothed it behind her ear, letting her touch linger, and leaned in close enough to catch the faint hint of the other woman’s perfume. “It’s not so bad.”

A bit undignified, Emma allowed, but surely not so bad.

Moira’s lips stayed tightly shut behind the non-existent gag, although the protest would have been muffled either way. It had been a personal touch, taking the dutifully offered panties and, in turn, stuffing them into a dutifully opened mouth, and Emma had perhaps enjoyed it too much, but she’d never been overly troubled by guilt. The way it made Moira’s eyes shine bright with hatred and fury was an added bonus, one Emma felt made evident in the growing ache between her thighs.

“I still have questions,” she said, the words trailing after her as she turned. The chair was heavy. Oak, and far too regal to blend with Ms. MacTaggart’s décor. An heirloom, Emma decided. “Your family’s?” she asked, running her finger down a stripe of red in the tartan.

The fury in Moira’s eyes burned brighter.

A few languorous movements, and Emma’s white dress pooled at her feet. She stepped free of it gently, feeling more at ease in her corset and garters.

“You are quite lovely,” she murmured absently, settling down into the chair. She draped a leg over one sturdy arm and wriggled slightly, the wool of the tartan itchy against her skin. “Far too lovely to be a bureaucrat.”

Moira struggled, the movements futile, and Emma smiled. She did look lovely, pressed back against the wall with her legs spread wide, held that way by a length of steel between her ankles made real by the power of Emma’s mind. Her arms were wrapped around her midsection, held tight by a psychic straightjacket, and the snugly imagined fit forced her arms into a frame around her breasts, pushing them together and up as if she were making an offering of them.

Emma never felt more at peace than when there was a naked woman bound and at her bidding. Or, even better, at her mercy.

They were on a timetable, of course, but she decided there was time to savor the moment. Without hesitation, her hand slid down between her legs. There was nothing covering her sex, nothing to keep her fingers from slipping immediately into the wetness that had been growing since she’d first stepped into Moira MacTaggert’s mind and quieted it. She never truly delighted in the lifelessness of someone wholly under her control, but it had been necessary. Otherwise, Moira would have protested. She wouldn’t have undressed calmly, wouldn’t have dutifully pressed her back to the wall and held perfectly still.

To come back to herself as she had, bound, gagged, and spread, had been beautiful to watch. She had fire, and it burned in her cheeks and her eyes in a way that made Emma even wetter.

At the memory, Emma’s hips rolled against the pressure of her fingers on her clit. Her free hand tightened around the arm of the chair, knuckles going white with the grip.

“Would you like to enjoy yourself too?” she asked, and smirked at Moira’s sneer. “No? Well, I did offer.”

She couldn’t dally. There was evildoing to be done, and if she lingered too long, she was likely to find Sebastian and Azazel inconveniently present. It wasn’t her preference, rushing, but there was something about it that made the whole thing even more deliciously sordid. Pumping her hips wantonly against her fingers, hearing the soft, liquid sound of flesh against wet flesh highlighted by the almost pornographic soundtrack of her ever rougher breathing – it was lovely in its own way, she decided. And Moira’s eyes, locked to her despite her desperate wish to look away, made it even better.

“I don’t put on a show for just anyone,” Emma said, her words broken by a soft gasp. She was already close from just this, just the teasing touch of her fingertips and the power of Moira’s glare. “You’d best pay attention.”

Not that Moira could do anything but pay attention. She couldn’t look away, couldn’t blink, couldn’t imagine away the sight and replace it with another. She couldn’t do anything other than watch the tight circle of Emma’s fingers between her legs.

She struggled again against her bonds, shoulders twisting as she tried to pull her arms free.

“Absolutely lovely,” Emma murmured, head dropping back and hips arching as she came.

After a moment spent catching her breath, Emma brought her fingers up to her lips. Two shone with wetness, and she pulled them into her mouth, jaw working as she sucked them clean.

She pulled them free with a lewd, wet pop, and Moira drew in an involuntary breath. Emma smiled sharply and rose, flexing her toes in her heels as her thighs quivered. A trickle of sweat gathered in the hollow of her throat, and she used a forefinger to wipe it away.

“To work then.”


End file.
